


The Warrior's Way

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Stories From Clan Meso'a [3]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Meso'a, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 00:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: Speak softly and never let them rise! ~Clan Meso'a saying





	The Warrior's Way

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and events in this story are fleshed out more in the Clan Meso'a Lore document. Read at your own risk. For more information, visit star-pit-epsilon on Tumblr for updates on the document.

The afternoon was cool and the grass was soaking up the last rays of sunlight before the dark plunge of a late autumn night. Sand and pine needles whipped around the courtyard, flying this way and that in the breeze. The smell of grilled meats and baked breads still lingered in the air and wafted up from the valley; jubilant voices could be heard over the swaying trees and screeching stoneray.   
Harven’s tendrils twitched irritably as she swept the pine needles off of her work. A long white gown with unfinished embroidery sat on her lap, her hand still on the needle and her patron seated on the bench before her. She wasn’t nearly as old as most, but getting a Pi’il was both honored tradition and a formality for members of the Clan. She’d embroidered many for both sides, although the Clan told the best stories. Her current patron, however, would stick with her for the rest of her life. The longest, darkest braid Harven had ever seen draped down the woman’s shoulder and rested just below her navel, originating from a high ponytail adorned with a brilliant jade comb. Her skin was ruddy tan and her eyes were grey rimmed with gold; she had three frontal horns just as worn as the rest of her from years spent in various helmets. Her lips were cracked and decorated with scars and scabs; her cheeks chiseled and angular like a sculpture pockmarked by old bruises that never quite healed. She was tall, a head taller than even Lady Axa, and her shoulders were taunt and tense as if she was ready to strike at any moment. The Vin’ka on her shoulders and right hip, the Ka on her left, the black-out around her temples and outer cheeks that gave her face the shape of beakless Nagut, she was a sight to behold.   
Truth be told, this was the closest Harven had even been to the Choxultz’alor (the closest she’d ever dared), but it was the eve of her retirement and she’d requested a young Chibala to embroider her Pi’il. Axa warned Harven beforehand in case she decided to wax poetic about being a warrior or her life in fighting in the war. So far, she’d spoken about little else than her upbringing in the mountains until-  
“Hm?” Harven looked up from the petal she was detailing, “What was his name?”   
“Carem,” Vidria repeated, “My uncle.”   
Harvem nodded and returned to her stitching, “He died during the protest.”  
Vidria hummed in affirmation, “He was a brave man.”   
“He was,” Harven agreed, moving onto the next flower, “What else do you want to remember?”  
Vidria shook her head and chuckled dryly, “You ask that as if I’m your baba complaining about the ravages of time.”   
“I ask what I was instructed to,” Harven frowned, “I’m sorry if I offended you.”   
Vidria studied her, “You’re too young to remember the famines.”  
Harven shrugged, “My brother does. I was born when Acha married.”   
“He married and then he died,” Vidria sat back on her hands, “You must have grown up with his stories, then?”  
“I did.”  
“Good. At least you will pass them on.”   
“How could I forget?”  
It was Vidria’s turn to shrug, “I think that many will forget. I think that many will try to forget because peace will dull them.”  
Harven tied off the orange string and fished out a shade of deep green, “But your people, the Mandalorians, they don’t forget that easily.”   
“Ah but you see,” Vidria tapped the air with her finger, “Mandalorians will not forget, but what about the East? They think we will stay down, that they beat back our ancestors and we will stay where they left us.”  
Harven’s tendrils twitched again, this time agitated by Vidria’s tone. The Choxultz’alor was said to be a man or woman possessed by the spirit of Jiiya in direct opposition of the spirit of Rahast. The Clan saw them as the defenders against chaos, destruction, and erasure brought about by the capricious lies of the demoness. She lied to them about their strength, about how she would care for her Enad. When she abandoned them, they said that those who led the Enad out of the chaotic darkness and into the dawn of the Vin’ka were possessed by Jiiya’s undying desire to fight Rahast. He was still a fool for incurring her wrath, but they would use his choxultz, his eternal spirit, to protect themselves from her unnatural gaze. In Vidria she could see both the Jiiya and why they called her Hod’ka, the Fickle Flame. She could swing from docile to ferocious like the changing winds. Many blamed it on some plague of the mind. Harven, however, saw past the simple explanations. Lady Axa had taught her that much. Regardless of what drove her to be this way, Harven felt inclined to challenge the older warrior.   
“So you’re saying, and I hope I’m not putting words in your mouth, that the Clan is too proud to leave the transgressions of the East unchallenged?”   
Vidria’s lip twitched into a half snarl and her brow became deeply furrowed.   
“Kex’ika,” she growled, “Guard your tongue lest Jiiya rip it out.”   
“I thought the phrase was ‘Speak clearly and don’t let them rise’?” Harven retorted, something akin to smugness in the tilt of her head.   
A flash of something dark crossed Vidria’s features, but then she threw her head back and laughed. Harven nearly pricked her finger with the needle. Startled yet aware that this was just another facet of Lady Hod’ka, she chuckled awkwardly.   
“I meant no offence-” she began, but Vidria, composing herself, put up her hand.   
“You study us well, kex’ika,” she reached down and patted Harven’s shoulder, “I thought the Chibala had taken a side.”   
“We take no sides, ori’vod,” Harven chanced a mando’a term of familiarity.   
Her phrasing pleased Vidria and she smiled like a well fed Jiiya, then sat back on her hands again. Harven finished off the fifth flower while the two sat in silence. Vidria, eyes closed and breathing deeply, spoke into the growing dark:  
“Speaking softly does not mean we won’t reclaim our dignity,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting Harven’s, “It just means that one day, we will rise for better or worse. I cannot speak on the Alor, but I can on my children.”   
“And what will your children do?”   
Vidria thought for a moment. “They will train the warriors to be strong, to be courageous, to dare to challenge authority-”  
“But why?” Harven interrupted, tying off the last of the stitching, “Why not train them to be obedient?”  
“Because reinforcing blind obedience breeds vanity, vanity breeds laziness, and laziness breeds cowardice,” Vidria sat forward and leaned her elbows on her knees, “If you do not challenge authority, they will think what they do is right and teach others to do the same. Not all actions are right for all situations. Rigidity will be the death of the Enad both in the East and the West. You know it is true, kex’ika.”   
Harven fidgeted with her sleeve, her eyes dropping to the ground as she mulled over that very same truth Lady Axa had instilled in her.   
“So,” she began tentatively, “your people, the Clan, won’t retaliate but will raise better leaders, therefore retaliating by being the better example for the next generation.”   
Vidria blinked, “Yes...that’s..heh, you Chibala are smarter than I took you for.”  
Harven looked up at her. She wasn’t able to visually express what most sentients could with their faces, but she did what she could to express her pleasure at Vidria’s words.   
“I’m glad you see that,” she said, gently folding the completed Pi’il and handing it to the warrior, “and I hope this helps you remember.”   
Vidria carefully took the fabric, set it in her lap, and reached for Harven’s hands. Harven rose to stand before her and accepted them.   
“I, Harven Haria’n Chibala, give to you, Vidria Haria’n Choxultz’alor, this Pi’il. Let it be a reminder of who you are, lest Rahast pluck the kezultz from your body. May it guide your choxul, may it shine like Vin’ka, may you wear it with pride.”   
Vidria’s chest swelled as she replied in kind:  
“I, Vidria Haria’n Choxultz’alor, accepted from you, Harven Haria’n Chibala, this Pi’il. Let it be a sign that you see all as they are without question, lest Rahast take your eyes for her own. May you grow in choxul, may you shine like Vin’ka, may your words transcend til’ka.”   
Harven let go of Vidria’s hands and took a step back.   
“Rise, Vidria Vin’haria’n, I declare you so under Vin’ka in the presence of Father Kad in spite of Mother Rahast.”   
Vidria collected her Pi’il and rose before the Chibala, towering above her and obscuring the rising moon with her jade comb. Harven clasped her hands at her waist and waited, but Vidria was content to stand in silence. The air had grown colder and crisper as they’d talked. Harven was more than ready to head back to her hut and settle in for the night, but she remained where she was. Vidria, clad in a loose shirt and a black loincloth (indicative of an older-but-not-elderly warrior) that covered a pair of white shorts seemed wholly unphased by the chilly conditions. Vidria looked to Harven a woman who had done more fighting than speaking, more so than any other Mandalorian she’d met. It was interesting, though, that the biggest difference Harven could see between her and those of the East was the mention of Kad in the Pi’il dedication. Both groups saw themselves as Haria Enad, although the Mandalorians seemed to take the term literally. Belief in Kad drove them to make armor, ships, weapons, become more warlike, and yet.. Harven knew that deep down being apart from their Eastern brethren was like an ever hemorrhaging wound. Despite Vidria’s tone, Harven could tell this was the case. She and her people longed to be one with them again, but it just wasn’t possible. The damage was done. They’d spoken clearly, even softly, but the East was as stubborn as the West. The Mandalorians, the ‘aruetii’, the Mando’ade and the Enad…   
“Would you let them rise?” Harven asked, breaking the almost five minute long silence.   
“Hm?”  
“You’ve spoken clearly, you both have. But if the tide turned, if the positions were reversed, would you let them rise?”   
The older warrior let out a sigh with a slight hum to it.   
“I don’t know, kex’ika,” she said honestly, “But once you’ve spoken clearly, and they have heard you, should they not relent it is your duty to never let them rise.”   
“Why?”  
Vidria smiled slightly, but it was mirthless and her eyes weren’t focussed on Harven or anything in particular.   
“It is not our way,” she simply said and left Harven standing alone in the darkening courtyard.


End file.
